Free The Nightingale Circus by Ioana Visan Page B

“Sleep well, sweetheart. We’ll wake you up
again once we fashion you a smooth closing panel. You won’t even
know it’s there.”
    “It’s Miss Semenova to you,” Anya said in a
clipped voice before lead filled her veins and her eyes closed.
    Somewhere in the background, Rake
chuckled.
     
    * * *
     
    And one … and two … and three… Anya’s
leg swung high in the air, her toes pointed straight in the ballet
shoes while her hands held tight on the barre in front of the
mirror. She repeated the exercise again and again to strengthen her
legs so they could carry the extra weight of her chest with
ease.
    Six weeks into her rehabilitation program and
she could already do nine out of ten spins without losing her
balance. Not good enough to perform on a big theatre stage, but a
huge improvement compared to the first days after the procedure
when a simple walk across the room used to be a challenge. It would
get better. She had to believe that. She had to re-learn everything
she’d trained for years to do, but now she had time.
    She grabbed the towel from the barre and
wiped the sweat off her face and neck. She still sweated when she
trained hard but never flushed anymore, and she missed the loud
thumps of her heart when she got excited. If the human condition
had been defined by the presence of a heartbeat, she would have
been declared dead by now.
    Avoiding the mirror, Anya turned towards the
middle of the room. No need to rest since her lungs didn’t get
tired and her muscles received all the oxygen they needed. They
still hurt, but it was a good burn. A grand plié and an arabesque
followed by an attitude brought a smile on her face. Soon, she
would be good enough, if not even better than her previous persona.
And then the world would see…
    She danced across the empty room on the
ground floor of her villa in St. Petersburg, listening to the music
sounding only in her head, and imagined herself on the Moscow
stage, amazing the audience. The dream lasted until her phone
beeped. She ran to the bench where she’d left her things and picked
it up.
    Dear Anastasia Anatolievna Semenova,
    We regret to inform you that your health
record doesn’t qualify you for a position in our ballet
company…
    The third rejection letter received this
week. Not only did the local companies not want to hear from her,
neither did the foreign ones. She was beginning to see a trend.
    Anya tossed the phone across the room and
winced, imagining Masha being alerted by the noise and not wanting
the maid to fuss over her. Wishing they had removed her tear ducts
along with her lungs, she continued her routine.
     
    * * *
     
    It felt strange to sit in a box rather than
be on stage, but Anya couldn't stay away, no matter how much it
hurt. She had to feel the music, drink in the lights, and pretend
she was flying up there with the rest of the dancers. After a whole
year, she’d come to terms with the idea that she wouldn’t dance
again, not professionally anyway. It didn’t mean she couldn’t watch
and gloat internally that she was better than anyone on the stage.
A boost of pride got her through the day. But artists needed an
audience, and sometimes she couldn’t help getting depressed. This
was one of those nights. So when she spotted a familiar face in a
box across the hall, she saw red.
    Sitting through the end of the act was
torture, and when the intermission started, she stormed out of the
box and bumped right into Big Dino in the corridor. He looked
bigger than she remembered, but the wicked grin was still in
place.
    “You tricked me!” She poked his wide chest
with her index finger. “You knew no one would hire me
after—”
    “I didn’t trick you,” Big Dino said. “I
promised you’d live and still be able to dance.”
    “Dance where ?” Anya’s voice became a
shout that turned the heads of several people in the corridor.
    “Ah, that…” An elusive smile spread over Big
Dino’s round face. “Finding you a job